Good Time(14)

“Fair point,” he says with a tip of his head, smirk still firmly in place, which annoys me enough to elaborate.

“For the record—” I hold up a finger, ready to make my case, but I’m interrupted before I can get very far.

“The record,” he interrupts, his brows lifted in amusement. “Do we need a court reporter present? Should I make a call?”

Ugh, this guy.

“For the record,” I start again after shooting him a look that conveys he had best let me finish, “the phrase ‘break a leg’ is an ironic expression of good luck. So telling someone to break a dick as they’re on their way to have sex is a pretty brilliant adaption of the phrase.” I cross my arms in triumph, because when you’re right you’re right. And I’m so right. I might even submit this phase to Urban Dictionary because I think this one has a real chance of catching on.

He laughs out loud this time before shaking his head and turning on his heel to retreat down the hallway following the path we took to get here, his footsteps reverberating on the polished concrete floors.

“You’re nuts. Cute but nuts,” he mutters as he starts up the stairs.

“No. I’m actually really funny. That was just proof of that.” I jog up the steps so I can catch up with him at the landing and cut him off. “And no one has called me cute since I was twelve. I’m way past twelve.”

“I can see that,” he replies after a pregnant pause, his gaze dropping briefly to my cleavage.

Thank fuck this body shimmer is finally working.

“Good. What else do you want to see?” I rest my hand on the railing, blocking him from further escape, my head tilted to the side in what I hope appears as a blatant invitation.

“Excuse me?” He gets the most amazing line on his forehead when he narrows his eyes on me. There’s a hint of a laugh on his lips warring with the flicker of disbelief in his expression and I want him to kiss me. I might die if he doesn’t kiss me soon. Melt right into an angsty puddle of sexual need. Death by denial of his perfect lips.

“I’d be happy to break your dick,” I offer, then wince. “Okay”—I remove my hand from the railing and hold it up in the universal stop gesture—“I’ll admit that adaption didn’t really work.”

“Not quite.” He shakes his head, a smile on his lips. I take a half a step closer to him. Damn, he smells good too. He looks good, he smells good and I’m positive he’d taste good if I could just get his lips on mine. Or lick him. I might settle for licking him at this point if I didn’t think it might make things weird.

“Whatever. You get the gist,” I whisper, leaning in a bit closer. Kiss. Me.

“I’ll pass.”

Wait, what?

I’m positive if you looked up the word ‘disbelief’ right at this moment a picture of my face would be attached. It’d be in one of those animated three-second clips and the only thing moving on my face would be my eyelids, blinking in slow repetition.

My libido slows down a bit to give my brain a moment to catch up.

“No?” I repeat.

“Are you unfamiliar with the word, Payton?”

“You run a strip club.” I’m dumbfounded. Like what the fuck?

“So you think I indiscriminately fuck anyone who offers?” He says it calmly, seemingly without any care, but his response takes a second too long and his eyes don’t quite meet mine.

“No!” Sorta. Yeah, I sorta did. God, I’m awful, but really? “It’s not like I thought that many women offered,” I try to clarify.

His brows lift at that and then he laughs before brushing past me and continuing up the second set of steps.

“I meant outright,” I protest, clambering after him. “Obviously you get plenty of offers for sex. Look at yourself, of course you do.”

I’m not sure that came out right either.

“It’s a very flattering offer,” I add for lack of anything else to say. It really is. I’m far from hideous and besides, I’m not wrong about all the sexual tension between us. There’s enough of it to power all the neon in Vegas.

We’ve reached the landing to the second floor and he pauses and turns to face me, his eyes dropping to my lips. Finally, finally, finally. Then he shakes his head, as if shaking sense into himself, before opening the stairwell door without a word.

This motherfucker.

“Why the hell not though?” I slide past him into the hall and stand in front of him, one hand on my hip, the other pointed in his face. “That was a great offer.” I punctuate that with my finger. “Most men would be delighted with such straightforwardness.”

“Would they?” The smirk is back on his stupid, perfect face. “Is it an offer you make often, Payton?”

Oh, no, he did not.

“Listen, asshole. That’s really none of your business. I can hand out a golden ticket to whomever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. The number of tickets handed out does not change my value as a female, so save your sexist bullshit for someone who cares. I’m not going to apologize for being in charge of my own sexuality and asking for what I want.”

“A golden ticket. Jesus Christ, I can’t with you.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t with you either. You’re not even seeing anyone. What is your hangup?”